The students at St Benet's were accustomed to unlimited licence in the
matter of sitting up at night. At a certain hour the electric lights
were put out, but each girl was well supplied with candles, and could
sit up and pursue her studies into the small hours, if she willed.
It was late when Priscilla left Maggie Oliphant's room on this first
night, but, long as her journey had been, and tired as she undoubtedly
felt, the events of the evening had excited her, and she did not care to
go to bed. Her fire was now burning well, and her room was warm and
cosy. She drew the bolt of her door, and, unlocking her trunk, began to
unpack. She was a methodical girl, and well trained. Miss Rachel Peel
had instilled order into Priscilla from her earliest days, and she now
quickly disposed of her small but neat wardrobe. Her linen would just
fit into the drawers of the bureau. Her two or three dresses and
jackets were hung tidily away behind the curtain which formed her
wardrobe.
Priscilla pushed her empty trunk against the wall, folded up the bits of
string and paper which lay scattered about, and then, slowly undressing,
she got into bed.
She undressed with a certain sense of luxuriousness and pleasure. Her
room began to look charming to her now that her things were unpacked,
and the first sharp pain of her home-sickness was greatly softened since
she had fallen in love with Maggie Oliphant.
Priscilla had not often in the course of her life undressed by a fire,
but then had she ever spent an evening like this one? All was fresh to
her, new, exciting. Now she was really very tired, and the moment she
laid her head on her pillow would doubtless be asleep.
She got into bed, and, putting out her candle, lay down. The firelight
played on the pale blue walls, and lit up the bold design of the
briar-roses, which ran round the frieze at the top of the room.
Priscilla wondered why she did not drop asleep at once. She felt vexed
with herself when she discovered that each instant the chance of slumber
was flying before her, that every moment her tired body became more
restless and wide-awake. She could not help gazing at that scroll of
briar-roses; she could not help thinking of the hand that had painted
the flowers, of the girl whose presence had once made the room in which
she now lay so charming.
Priscilla had not yet been twelve hours at St Benet's, and yet almost
every student she had met had spoken of Annabel Lee--had spoken of her
with interest, with regret. One girl had gone further than this; she
had breathed her name with bitter sorrow.
Priscilla wished she had not been put into this room. She felt
absolutely nervous; she had a sense of usurping someone else's place, of
turning somebody else out into the cold. She did not believe in ghosts,
but she had an uncomfortable sensation, and it would not have greatly
surprised her if Annabel had come gliding back in the night watches to
put the finishing touches to those scrolls of wild flowers which
ornamented the panels of the doors, and to the design of the briar-rose,
which ran round the frieze of the room. Annabel might come in, and
pursue this work in stealthy spirit fashion, and then glide up to her,
and ask her to get out of this little white bed, and let the strange
visitor, to whom it had once belonged, rest in it herself once more.
Annabel Lee! It was a queer name--a wild, bewitching sort of a name--
the name of a girl in a song.
Priscilla knew many of Poe's strange songs, and she found herself now
murmuring some words which used to fascinate her long ago:--
"And the angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee!
"But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we,--
Of many far wiser than we;
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
Some ashes fell from the expiring fire; Priscilla jumped up in bed with
a start. Her heart was beating fast. She thought of Maggie's exquisite
face. She remembered it as she had seen it that night when they were
sitting by the fire, as she had seen it last, when it turned so white,
and the eyes blazed at her in anger.
Priscilla stretched out her hand for a box of matches. She would light
her candle, and, as there was no chance of her going to sleep, sit up,
put her dressing-jacket on, and begin to write a long letter home to
Aunt Raby and to her little sisters. Such methodical work would calm
nerves not often so highly strung.
She rose, and fetching her neat little leather writing-case from where
she had placed it on the top of her bureau, prepared to open it.
The little case was locked. Priscilla went over to her curtained
wardrobe, pushed it aside, and felt in the pocket of the dress she had
worn that day for her purse. It was not there. Within that purse the
little key was safely hiding, but the purse itself was nowhere to be
found.
Priscilla looked all round the room. In vain; the neat brown-leather
purse, which held the key, some very precious memoranda of different
sorts, and her small store of worldly wealth, was nowhere to be found.
She stood still for a moment in perplexity. All her nervous fears had
now completely vanished; a real calamity and a grave one stared her in
the face. Suppose her purse were gone? Suppose it had been stolen?
The very small supply of money which that purse contained was most
precious to Priscilla. It seemed to her that nothing could well be more
terrible than for her now to have to apply to Aunt Raby for fresh funds.
Aunt Raby had stinted herself dreadfully to get Priscilla's modest
little outfit together, and now--oh, she would rather starve than appeal
to her again.
Suddenly as she stood in the middle of her room a memory came back to
her. It was the recollection of a very trivial incident. She
remembered something dropping on the floor as she sat by Maggie's side
at dinner. She had felt too nervous and miserable at the time to take
any notice of the slight sound made by the fall, but now it returned
vividly to her memory. She was sure that her purse must have dropped
out of her pocket at that moment, and was convinced that it was now
lying quietly under the table where she had sat.
Priscilla felt far too excited to wait until the morning to make herself
sure on this point. No; happen what might, she would set her fears at
rest now, and find her way somehow through the strange and sleeping
house until she discovered her lost treasure.
Partly re-dressing, she took her candle in her hand, and softly unhasped
her door. It was a well-oiled lock, and made no click or noise of any
kind as she turned the handle. When she opened the door wide it did not
creak. The long corridor outside had a stone floor, and was richly
carpeted. No fear of treacherous, creaking boards here. Priscilla
prepared to walk briskly down the length of the corridor, when she was
arrested by seeing a light streaming out of Maggie Oliphant's room.
The electric lights were all extinguished, and this light alone shone
like a ray in the darkness.
Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay. She did not want Maggie to
hear her now. She would have been distressed at Maggie being acquainted
with her carelessness. She felt sure that a girl like Maggie Oliphant
could never understand what a little purse, which only contained a
sovereign or two, would mean to her.
On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past the
partly open door. A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, and
Maggie doubtless thought the door was shut.
Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were again
arrested by the sound of voices. Someone said "Priscilla Peel," and
then someone else laughed.
Priscilla stood perfectly still. Of course she had no right to listen,
but she did; she waited breathless, in an agony of expectation, for the
next words.
"I would not be jealous if I were you, Nancy," said Maggie's lazy, sweet
voice. "The poor girl is as queer as her name, but it gives me a kind
of aesthetic pleasure to be good to people. _You_ have no cause to be
jealous, sweet pet."
Priscilla raised one trembling hand, and noiselessly put out her candle.
Her feet seemed rooted to the spot.
Nancy murmured something, which Priscilla could not hear. Then there
was the sound of one girl kissing another, and Maggie's light laugh was
heard again.
"The unfortunate girl has fallen in love with you, there's no doubt
about that, Maggie," said Nancy.
"Well, my dear, she'll get over that little fever presently. When I'm
kind to them, they all have it. I believe I am gracious to them just
because I like to see that grateful, affectionate expression in their
eyes. The fact is, Nance, I have a perfectly crazy desire to excite
love."
"But do you give love, Maggie? Do you ever give it back in return?"
"Sometimes. I don't know, I believe I am rather fond of you, for
instance."
"Maggie, was Geoffrey Hammond at St Hilda's this afternoon?"
"I can't possibly say," replied Maggie, in a cold voice. Then she added
excitedly, "I don't believe the door is shut! You are so careless,
Nannie, so indifferent to the fact that there _may_ be eavesdroppers
about."
Priscilla crept back to her room. She had forgotten all about her
purse; every other feeling was completely swallowed up in a burning,
choking sense of anger.